Fables
by Double Spoiler
Summary: I'm just a grim, bloody fable, and you're a part of it. And this fable isn't going to end with a happy ending.


This was a gift for a friend. I decided to upload it here since there's a filter for Scotland.

Just want to put it out here that... I'm sorry for the accent! I used this thing called "Scotranslate", translating it into the accent. Sorry if you cannot understand, I had a hard time understanding some parts myself, and cleared it up. Read it outloud if you don't understand. I'm sorry...

**Diclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia. My friend is the creator of this Scotland, but I don't own him either.

* * *

"Wantae know somethin'?"

"What?"

"Ah hate ye, ye tea sippin' priss."

Insults were not new to Robert's tongue, nor were they to Arthur's ear. In fact, swearing and insults were frequent in their household. Arthur sighed, stirring the teacup in his hand with a little teaspoon, the metal shining in the light of the lamp.

"Yes, Robert, you've made that clear plenty of time." The man said, putting down the spoon.

"How come ye treat me like scum?"

Arthur brought the teacup to his lips. "Why do I treat you like scum?" He repeated. Robert furrowed his brow, glaring intently at the Briton in front of him. Arthur took a long sip of his tea, deliberately trying to extend the silence. What a priss. "I think it should be reversed, Robert; why do _you_ treat me like scum?"

"A'm a drunk," Robert admitted stonily, "Ye dinnae have and excuse."

"Robert," Arthur said, "I had no excuse back then. When I was a power hungry maniac. I wanted power. And I got it. Which is what made you hate me, and I get that. And then I lost it and realization hit me like a bullet. I stopped being so cruel, but you didn't see that change." A sigh. "You only see the power hungry monster I once was, don't you?"

"Yer a monster," Robert spat, "A monster that enjoys killin' in cold blood. That's all ye are."

"All I _was_," Arthur corrected him. "You don't want to admit that you don't ever forget the past."

"Cause a'm th' smart one!" Robert shouted, slamming his hands down on the table. Arthur jumped just a bit, almost dropping his saucer. "A'm the ainlie smart one! A'm the ainlie one wit' th' brains ta' be wary o' ye! When ye decide ta' gang up against Ireland, n' Spain, n' France, n' err' body _else_ and murder us all!"

"I'm not going to murder anybody!" Arthur shouted, putting the cup down and standing up. "I'd never murder anyone! It goes against everything I've said to the world!"

"Hundred Years War!"

"I would never kill!"

"War o' th' Spanish Succession!"

"I get mad, but murder? Something Russia would stoop to the level of! Not me!"

"Mah bloody war fer independence! Ye fuckin' monster!"

With gritted teeth, Arthur clenched his fist and punched his brother, straight across the jaw. The Scot took a stumble, almost falling over and crashing down into the couch. Retaliating quite quickly, he dove straight at Arthur, knocking the Brit over to the ground, slamming down on top of him, wrapping his hands around his throat. They both hit against he cabinet, the glasses and china inside shaking, threatening to fall over on their shelving. Arthur reached up and pulled down on his hair, Robert responding with a loud growling sound.

"Pullin' hair? What, yer suddenly some bitchy lassie noo?" Robert snapped.

"Get your bloody arse off me, you damn drunk!" Arthur shouted over his words, clawing at the side of his neck, digging his nails into his throat, not enough to draw blood, though.

"A'll git mah 'bloody arse' off ye wance yer lungs are about ta' burst!"

"You wouldn't fucking _dare!_" Arthur spat up at Robert, digging nails into his throat even more.

"What gives ye tha' idea I wouldn'?" Robert tightened his grip on his brother's neck, Arthur taking a sharp, desperate breath of air, but no waver in his glare.

"What gives me that idea?" Arthur repeated, some sort of triumphant smirk spreading onto his face, "Because you _need_ me! You need _everything_ England gives you! I give you money that you waste in seconds on whiskey! And whatever I don't give you, you swipe away off the counter to go beg some shady Dutch guy for a joint of pot! You know where you live, Robert? You live in _London_! In _my _house! Edinburgh is not your home anymore! Neither is Glasgow, or Aberdeen, or Dundee or Inverness or _anywhere_ in Scotland! You live in _London, England!_ Do you need me to spell that for you? You are _my property,_ and if your owner is killed, _you're going down with me!_"

Something broke.

Robert let go of his throat to grab his shirt, yanking Arthur up off the floor to his eyelevel, Those eyes, usually just a shade of green while always looking mad, were _enraged_, pure anger flooding through his veins, gritting his teeth so tightly, his jaw would be hurting. "_Ye wanna repeat that 'gain?_"

Arthur wasn't afraid. He opened his mouth, and bit down on Robert's nose, biting hard enough to break skin. Robert screamed a rather garbled, incomprehensible profanity, letting go of Arthur's shirt collar to grab- no, dig his nails into Arthur's throat. The Englishman coughed, small droplets of saliva spraying onto Robert's nose, mixing with the drops of blood sliding down his face now. Some of the blood got in Arthur's mouth, giving the Brit a horrible and iron-like taste, but still he wouldn't let go, even when blood and salvia drooled down his chin. Robert drove his nails even deeper into Arthur's throat, and he could swear beads of blood began to form on his gloved hands. Arthur, fearing his own demise, let go of Robert, stopped biting him, pulling back and out of the Scot's angry grip on his throat.

"Fuckin' figures ye'd let go-" Robert's words died in his throat, and all air in his lungs left with a sharp, pained, shocked gasp, Arthur deliberately falling back on the ground to bring his legs back and kick Robert in the stomach, _hard_. Hard enough to knocked the Scot back, for him to hit the cabinet the two wanted to avoid, the doors opening and delicate china clanging around, threatening to fall out of the cabinet and down onto the floor, possibly hitting the brothers. Arthur scrambled to his feet, but then became relaxed when he was up, glaring down at Robert with his _Learn how to give people respect you tosser_ glare.

He didn't say anything, not even a 'humph'. He walked out of the room, hands on hips and leaning back just a bit. Maybe he'd get another teacup and have some tea outside, or maybe in his room on his balcony. Or he'll go to a park and under a gazebo-

He was looking at the floor. Falling down and crashing to the floor, shoved down by Robert diving onto him again. With both men screaming

(_"Christ, Robert! What are you doing?" "Fuckin' English _twat!")

And tumbling to the ground, and then crashing on the floor - marble tile, shining with the chandelier above them, high up on the ceiling - Robert got on top of Arthur, straddling him with his hips. The Scot clenched his fist tightly and smashed his fist across Arthur's face, returning the punch he had gotten earlier. He hit the mans other cheek, and then hit him again, repeating from his left to right, left to right, left to right, left to right, left to right, left to right-

Arthur grabbed Robert's wrist, pulling him suddenly to the left, making the Scot almost fall off Arthur-which the Englishman took advantage of. He rolled over with him, and Robert did the same in return once Arthur was on top, and this actually continued; two men rolling around on the floor, pulling at each other's hair and ears, screaming curses loudly at the other, threats of further abuse or threats to cut off connections to let the other starve.

They hit the wall, the corner of the wall to be exact, Robert on the bottom and Arthur on top. Both men hit their heads off the corner, both growling and cursing at this. Arthur thrusted his knee up, kneeing Robert in the side, earning him another curse. He climbed off of the Scot, and tried to run off. Robert grabbed him by the ankle, making the Englishman fall down onto the tile again. Glancing back, he tried to pull himself away, kicking down at his sibling with his free leg, hitting _something_ because Robert screamed "You fuckin' twat!" once again and tried to pull him towards the ginger-haired man, earning him another kick. Arthur got to the stairs, with Robert practically _climbing_ up his back and trying to get him in some form of a sleeper grip, getting kicked even more. Somehow, the Brit broke free, crawling up the stairs and then getting to his feet and scampering upstairs, with a murderous Scotsman chasing him up the wood steps.

Arthur moved out of the way, right at the top step, for Robert to run ahead, just a bit farther, and Arthur grabbed him, throwing him down to the ground, gripping his throat while they hit the ground with a sickening _thud_, all air leaving Robert's lungs the moment Arthur crashed on top of him.

He wasn't about to go down like this. He grabbed onto Arthur's throat in return, both of them battling their way up, going from lying down to sitting on their knees, coughing and sputtering and cursing and screaming at each other all the way. This somehow managed to continue while they got to their feet, both their faces going red from lack of air.

Arthur pushed him back, shoving him with his body, not arms, until both of them heard a… well, a _snap_ sound, the snap of not bones, but wood.

Neither would care for the snap of wood. They step on twigs every day in their lives. But they were in their house and wood just doesn't snap randomly in your house unless it was in it's place in the fireplace. This was the banister, breaking beneath the weight of the two men slamming into it. It was dull surprise at first, building up to _fear_ once Robert realized he was falling back and that Arthur realized he was falling forward, both off the edge of the banister. The wood that broke fell down beneath them, Arthur just barely seeing the tile flooring below. It was a big drop, fifteen feet, and he was sure this wouldn't end well. And even if he survived, Robert wouldn't, with a man falling on top of him after a huge drop. Arthur shifted himself to the right a bit during the fall, and he didn't even realize Robert did the same, not moving himself but moving Arthur

(_I've always wanted ta' kill ya'_)

To the side of him, just like what Arthur was doing.

Sick realization hit them when Arthur and Robert knew they were going to die, their demises the cause of the other and hate for the other. They didn't want to say anything, just stare at the other with mortification at how they're going to end, so all Arthur thought of was _God save the queen_ and Robert _Scotland the beautiful_ before the last things the two men heard was _thud_ and _snap._


End file.
